


Song for a Winter's Night

by babydraco



Category: Historical RPF
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Hollywood, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe-New England, Ballet, Daddy Kink, Fluff and Smut, Grief/Mourning, Holidays, Light BDSM, M/M, May/December Relationship, Polyamory, mentions of abuse, mentions of under age
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-26
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-02-23 00:20:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23002738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babydraco/pseuds/babydraco
Summary: While on opposite coasts for Christmas break,  Dr. Jim Stuart and his new young lover deal with what it means to be together (even when they're far apart).Sequel to Sugar (foundhereand chapters 9, 11-14).
Relationships: James VI and I/George Villiers 1st Duke of Buckingham
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It took me long enough to return to this series that it's actually 2018 in the storyverse... See endnotes for summary of previous installment.

_New year, new me._

George planned to start off 2018 by putting some old problems to bed. He was surprised when the guard in the security booth at the studio lot actually let him drive through when he said he was there to see Shane Pearson. Was it a good sign or a bad one that he hadn't been blacklisted? He charmed his way past two assistants, then casually knocked on Pearson's office door as if he belonged there. He had, once, a long time ago. Right there on that stupid plaid couch where he would read his comics, waiting for Shane to finish work. Looking at the couch made him want to puke now. 

“Georgie. What can I do for you?” The director raised an eyebrow as he glance up from his computer screen. His hair was starting to thin. He wasn't the dashing thirty something who George had looked up to any more, he just looked older and tired. 

“I came to ask you for a favor. Well, it's not a favor exactly, it's more like what you already owe me.” George drifted closer, trying not to twist his hands nervously in his shirt. You didn't show Shane Pearson fear. Ever. He grinned, being fake cute might work a lot better. 

“I knew you'd be back someday when the money ran out. College in Boston is more expensive than you thought, huh?”

“It's Cambridge. And are you like, stalking me now?” George leaned on the desk, all casual, showing off how good puberty had been to him, with his height and toned, well defined muscles. 

“You were a big investment for me at one point. I believe in talent and you had genuine potential as an actor. Wanted to see how well you'd survive in the industry without me. But you quit and ran away instead. I didn't see that coming. Your insta is great, by the way.” 

George shrugged. The big secret he'd discovered was that finding a new game was just as satisfying as winning, if you couldn't win. Ballet wasn't exactly a normal world, but he was the best in his year and he was going to have a college degree from a good school soon. No one could take those things away from him. Shane had expected him to keep trying in Hollywood, to end up on a reality show, getting in fights with ex porn stars, or to end up on the street, hustling for drugs. He had not thought George would right himself and move on to a relatively stable future in a different career field. 

“Our breakup was harder on me than you think,” George said softly, tracing a finger near Shane's hand. “You know it wasn't my choice. My parents-” His livid stepfather had threatened to sue the studio. His bio dad was even angrier, although he also blamed Shane for George's bisexuality, as if it hadn't been waiting in the wings all along. His mother, however, was a much better actress than her resume would suggest and never betrayed her part in the arrangement. 

“Didn't understand us, didn't understand you were mature enough to make your own choice. Bet they still don't understand you and what you need. But you're a man now and you must've found a new boyfriend who understands you the way I did.” He sounded forgiving, almost indulgent. _Patronizing._ As calm and reasonable as that time he'd almost killed George. 

“Well.” George blushed on cue. “I do have a boyfriend. He's a teacher. He teaches me...a lot of stuff. But I thought, no one would know if you kept your promise about-”

“Oh, don't worry.” Shane tapped a few keys at his computer. “The money will be in your account by the end of today. Is $50,000 enough? Our little secret. You can always come to me, sweetheart. In fact, why don't we get together for coffee before you leave for school? He doesn't need to know.” 

George let him have a kiss and vague promises to seal the deal. 

_Good riddance, fucker._ First stop, the bank. Now, with the money safely in his account, George had something to protect himself if things went south with Jim. He ignored his shaking hands, it was probably just low blood sugar. 

Two hours later, George pulled into the diner parking lot, shut off his mother's car and got out, popping his umbrella open. His brothers already had their favorite table, he was greeted, hugged and made room for. George glanced at the menu, and gave his order just as his phone buzzed in his pocket. 

“Ooh, who is that?” John teased. 

“Can you, can you just let me take this?” George lifted the phone to his ear. “Yeah?”

“Enjoying sunny California?” It was Jim on the other end, sounding cheerful. George's heart leapt. He wished Jim had sent a text, so he could talk to him without anyone knowing his business, but it was good to hear his voice at the same time. It was like a warm blanket, he'd had no idea how much he'd really miss it in such a short time. 

“Actually, it's our rainy season. But still not as cold during the day as New England. You'd think this weather was practically summer. Have you ever been out here?”

“For academic conferences and book tours. I liked it but don't think I could live with the fear of earthquakes, mudslides and wildfires. Where exactly are you? I can hear restaurant noises.” And he probably could, the clink of silverware on china, waitresses calling in orders, probably even his brothers chewing. “I won't bother you if you're busy.”

“With my brothers in a Biggerson's, it's our annual New Year's Day Hangover Brunch.” 

“If it's for New Year's, it's by definition annual," Jim said. "I've never been in a Biggerson's, would I like it?”

“Hmm. I'm eating a chocolate chip and peanut butter waffle stack with bacon and a double hot chocolate with whipped cream. So yeah, how could anyone not like it? Except someone with diabetes.” George couldn't picture Jim in one of the chain of diner style casual family restaurants, scarfing down a big greasy burger. But he still didn't know everything _about_ Jim. Maybe he loved these places, maybe he had secrets like that. 

“You have a sweet tooth, I'll keep that in mind. Also, didn't know you had brothers.”

“Three older, one younger. Plus a sister but she's not here.” He smirked at them. “Not worth talking about, really. Are you still in Maine?” 

“Mhmm. You should see the harbor all lit up for Christmas. I'll send a photo later. Send me one of your family too. Everyone here is well, although since you're not alone I'll postpone the wee game I wanted to play. Just calling to wish you a Happy New Year.”

“Happy New Year,” George said softly before ending the call. _Happy New Year, Daddy._ He thought about “games” they might play later and shivered. 

“So who was that?” John persisted.

“I might-” George smiled down at the table “-I might have a sort of boyfriend.”

“Georgie! How old is he though?”

“He's not that old. He's 48.” And now they were all looking at him, fondly exasperated. No one asked if Jim knew about Shane, although he actually did, they all tried not to talk about Shane, period. It had just slipped out, but it was important that the second boyfriend George had ever had, knew what he was. Strictly speaking, Shane had not been a boyfriend per se, George was no longer stupid enough to believe that, but...

“That's a whole person older than you,” Chris pointed out around the toast he was shoving in his mouth. “I thought it was half your age plus seven.”

“What do you know, you're fifteen,” George retorted playfully. And he was glad Chris didn't know things. If George had his way, he'd never have to know the things George had learned at that age. 

“Do you guys love each other?” Chris asked. “I like that he makes you smile for real. Not the fake smile.”

“I don't know yet. But we really like being together so far.”

“So is he rich? What does he do?” Ned would be the one to care about that.

“He has family money, so he writes books and teaches at Harvard. He has this huge house with an elevator and a like, fucking...secret passage and I think they have servants.”

“Oooooh! Lock that down!”

 _I already have. I'm moving in after graduation._ His food came then, and the conversation turned to Marvel movies. 

The boys in the photo George sent were all handsome, all with the same basic traits as George, yet George stood out the most, as if God had refined His technique by the time He got to him. George had added a note that they could maybe each share their favorite home video. He'd do that at home, at the moment, Jim was waiting for Uncle James to finish in the line at Starbucks. 

“You're going to be up all night,” he pointed out when Uncle James rolled up. 

“Like I've got anywhere tae be tomorra,” Uncle James retorted. Jim couldn't argue with that. He helped the driver get Uncle James, the wheelchair, and their combined Post Christmas shopping in the van. They took the leisurely route, to see the villages all lit up for Christmas, reflecting over the dark harbor. 

“Hear from that boy yet?” Uncle James asked casually after a suitable amount of time had passed. 

“We had a short chat while I was waiting for you,” Jim replied. “He still wants to talk to me, so that's good. And my wife is also still speaking to me, so that's even better. I got through the holiday without fucking up my life.”

At the house, he almost walked in on his daughter and her boyfriend Freddie making out in front of the fireplace. 

“Leave some room for Jesus,” Jim said absently. He needed to get to his computer and find that video. He chose the one he'd shot when they took two year old Henry to Cape Cod. Jim filmed while Anne, barefoot with her jeans cuffed up to her calves, would play a game of gently dipping the baby's toes in the water. Henry's eyes were wide with wonder, and when they placed him back on the sand, he immediately ran toward the waves again, and shrieked with joy as he got splashed. As fearless at that age as he was when facing the end. 

George's video popped up about two hours later. It opened on a makeshift backyard stage. Jim pressed play curiously. A much smaller version of George bounded into the frame as Jim recognized the opening notes of Karma Chameleon. Wee George's voice was high and pure, his homemade choreography showed promise, especially when the three other little boys popped up behind him to join in. Jim was already laughing, and lost it by the time George brought out a chair and did a Flashdance routine.

His wife thought it was _almost_ as funny but she'd mostly come in to ask him not to stay up too late, because it annoyed her when he woke her up by coming in. As he was closing down the computer, Jim sent George a text to thank him for the adorable video. 

**Thanks! I was eight, it was for my mom's birthday. Uh, can we talk?** George wrote back. 

Sure. What's up? 

**I saw my ex.**

Doesn't bother me. Remember we talked about that. I don't expect monogamy as long as you're not using my resources on someone else. Did...you want me to be upset?

**No. That's fine. I just realized while I was talking to him, I don't like him anymore and I don't want to be around him.**

Outgrowing people is normal, especially a lover who wasn't very nice to you in the first place. Does he scare you?

**...No. I don't know. Maybe a little. He wants to have coffee, I think I won't go.**

I agree, don't show up. He'll try to get you back. He doesn't own you, you don't have to go with him just because he wants it. And I won't let anything happen to you if he reacts badly. 

**Right, I'm yours now.**

This statement was followed by a series of laughing emojis. Well, at least George had made that choice, to belong to Jim, on his own, as a fully informed adult. Jim would not make him regret it. They talked so long he forgot about going to bed.


	2. Chapter 2

“Dad. DAD.”

Jim awoke with a start to find Lizzie staring at him, hands on hips. 

“Dad, I have to print.”

“Hgghh.” Everything hurt, and for a moment he wondered where he was. Hadn't he meant to...

“Did you _sleep_ in here?”

“Why, what time is it?” Jim asked. He stood up and tried to stretch his back.

“It's 9 a.m. You spent all night in the computer chair.”

Jim glanced down at his phone. He'd meant to nap, then reply to George in an hour or so. He'd replied to George's last text with a random string of symbols. George had replied with a question mark, then gone quiet as he received no response. Now he had no time, George would be asleep. Probably. Going to sleep. He'd better be getting some sleep. 

“Sure, honey, I'll get out of your way.” Jim heaved a sigh. He left to find breakfast, which apparently no one had made. 

“We don't have staff here, remember?” Anne said testily. “I bought donuts yesterday.” 

He knew why she was cranky, he was well aware what 'don't come to bed too late' really meant. He'd need to make it up to her by the end of the day. His morning was looking up, they'd saved him one of those donuts with the lemon cream filling. 

“Let's go out to dinner tonight. At the Inn. No kids, no uncles, just us,” he suggested. That got a smile out of her, finally. “Hey, do you remember that Buzz Lightyear doll Henry loved?”

“Yeah, it's packed away somewhere upstairs. Why?”

“I just thought it'd be nice to give to Lizzie's first kid, that's all.” 

“Not Charles'?” 

He shot her a look of exaggerated despair and she laughed. 

George's mom and stepdad were having a tense conversation. He couldn't hear what it was about, but George was pretty sure it was about him, because he knew his brothers couldn't keep secrets. In his slope roofed bedroom, he lay on his bed in his pajama pants and t shirt, and stared at his old Broadway posters. In three months, this wouldn't be his bed anymore. He didn't plan on telling anyone about moving in with Jim until he was at least on the plane back to school. That way, when his stepdad hit the roof, he'd be safe from the debris. 

George couldn't believe how anxious and excited he was, waiting for Jim to reply to the last text. He tried to nap, using the sound of the rain on the roof to lull him, enough that it startled him when his phone alerted him to a new text.

**Hey sweet boy. Can you get on video?**

George's family had gone out, he'd heard them all banging out the door a few minutes ago, long enough that he could assume they wouldn't suddenly come back. Chris had a basketball game, they had to go to humor him, he usually spent the game warming the bench. George opened FaceTime, rolling over on his stomach for a better view. He propped his chin on his hands. 

“Love the outfit,”Jim said. George wiggled his feet in their narwhal slippers. 

“Got all ready for bed. Except I'm going to sleep alone.”

“I mean, I'll be here,” Jim murmured. “To watch over you. But hopefully not in a creepy 'Every Breath You Take' way.”

“I mean, if we were in the same room it would be okay, so it's okay now. I want it, I'd tell you if I didn't. Hey, do you think it's sexy that I'm talking to you from my old bedroom?”

“It's hot. It feels transgressive, your mother could walk in at any moment.” Jim smiled slowly. “With you with your pants down. So pull them down for me.”

“Oh alright!”George said in his most scandalized voice, wriggling the cotton pants down his legs. 

“Now, roll on your back.”

“But I can't see you,”George protested. 

“But _I_ can see _you_ and that's what matters. In fact, don't look at me, concentrate on what you're doing. Touch yourself like I'm not even here.”

“Ohh yeah,” George breathed. His hand stroked gently over his balls. “Like, what if you're spying on me through the window? Like you're the new neighbor and you saw me out fixing my car one time and couldn't get me out of your head?”

“And I begin to lust. I know how wrong it is, but I can't stop myself and I don't care. My bedroom window looks directly into yours.” Jim panted in his ear, it was almost as good as having him in the room. George should feel ashamed, embarrassed, but he did not. Oooh he did not. “I watch you undress.” 

George moaned, he felt the tension building as he rubbed himself just hard enough that there was a slight painful edge to it. Then it was that hot, familiar loss of control and he was boneless on the bed.

“Good boy. You did so well,” Jim was saying in his ear. “Go get cleaned up and...”

“You can read me a story,” George supplied. He wasn't sure why that was what popped into his head, but he wanted it. George padded into his bathroom. When he returned, he lay down on his side again to face the phone. 

“Uh, there aren't as many books here at the holiday home as we have back in Wellesley but I found _Nancy Drew and the Secret of the Old Clock_.”

“That's good.” George shifted to get comfortable as Jim cleared his throat and began to read.


	3. Chapter 3

George sipped his mimosa, peering down at the Boston sunrise from the first class seat Jim had upgraded for him. He never could sleep on planes, luckily he'd have tonight to rest before classes started up again. Dance classes were not ones you could hide in the back and nap through. His roommate was supposed to meet him with their friend Kate's car. Hopefully not with Kate in tow. It was too early for that. 

The plane descended through thick fog, circling, turning towards Logan Airport. The flight attendant came around to collect the breakfast trays. The pilot, sounding a bit tired, came on to welcome them to Massachusetts. 

His roommate wasn't there at baggage claim. Kate's car was not there when George stepped out onto the sidewalk. Instead, Jim's uniformed driver stood by a luxury town car, holding up a sign that read 'GEORGE VILLIERS!', and Rob, his roommate, waved cheerfully from the backseat. 

“Yo, look what your guy sent!”

“He just keeps _giving_ me stuff.” George fumbled in his wallet for something to tip the driver with after the man helped him pack his bags in the trunk. The tip was politely refused, so apparently he was just supposed to get used to being waited on, accept it as his due because Jim wanted him to have those things. Shane had been the same way. 

“You have to come up with a cool welcome home present,” Rob said. So far, Jim had taken the lead on almost everything and George had followed, but he wanted to take some initiative. It was hard to find things he could afford to buy Jim, that Jim couldn't get for himself, so it'd have to be something only George Villiers could provide. 

Jim met up with Dr. Bacon from MIT for lunch at a trendy cafe where they were both fond of the gingerbread lattes. 

“What's that you have?” Bacon asked, pointing at Jim's plate. 

“It's this thing they do every winter, turkey, cranberry sauce and stuffing in a panini. It's called The Gobbler.” 

“Why didn't I get that instead of...this?” Bacon poked at his Greek salad. 

“I don't know, Frank, I didn't make you pick that,” Jim said testily. “...George got home yesterday, I invited him to lunch.”

“A little nervous about the reunion?” Bacon queried. 

“A bit. We've been texting, FaceTiming, but the physical part, he's so _young_. I have to use every trick I know to keep up with him. God is it worth it, though.”

George waved from across the room, he started to head over, lunch order in hand. 

“I'll try to pull college boys for as long as I can. Oh my God,” Bacon sighed. “That is the hottest young man I've ever seen in my entire life. Is that him? How do you always get the best ones? What is he, a model?”

“Actor and dancer. Did you see the Mutant Revolution films?”

“I wouldn't be caught dead. Wait, does Harvard even have a dance program?”

“I honestly have no idea,” Jim admitted. “But he's not a Harvard student, he's from Lesley. We met late night grocery shopping.”

“What the hell, Jim.” Bacon threw his plastic fork down. Flushed from his walk in the cold, snow still clinging to his hat, George paused as he arrived at the table, unsure of how to greet him, so Jim went in for a warm hug. George was wearing the cologne Jim had bought him just before Christmas, a cool aquatic scent with woody undertones. Jim kissed his lips lightly. _Sweetheart, don't ever be embarrassed. You're beautiful and you're mine, and I want everyone to know_.

“I missed you, baby,” Jim murmured. “This is my friend Dr. Bacon, Dr. Bacon, George.”

Dr. Bacon stuck his hand out, he and George shook. Bacon held his hand just a few seconds too long, turning on the charm. 

“Call me Frank. Loved the Mutant Revolution films, by the way.” He solicitously made room for George at the table.

“Thanks! I only had a small part, though. You have-” George leaned over and gently but pointedly used a napkin to dab at the cranberry sauce which had dripped onto Jim's coat, a clear, yet polite message that he was with someone else. “That's better.”

George slipped his gloved hand into Jim's as they strolled back to his office, shoes crunching over snow.

“So, your friend is nice.”

“He was flirting with you all through lunch,” Jim said. 

“I know,” George replied. “But it didn't really work. I mean, it's fun but I'm not interested. But is that a new rule, that your friends are off limits?”

“I'd prefer it,” said Jim. “We're a bit competitive, me and Frank. And I want to be the only man you call Daddy. Yes, it's a new rule.”

“Okay.” George smiled down at the sidewalk.

“You like that, baby boy?”

“Kind of, yeah. It means you want me to meet your friends in the first place.”

“Well, I'm not hiding you away like a dirty secret,” Jim said. “You and I are doing nothing wrong. That man you were with before, he tried to keep you isolated because he was breaking the law, you were a _child_. It was never your fault, you deserve to be cared for and shown off and loved. If we stay together, I want everyone I know to see you as part of my family and I hope someday to be a part of yours.”

“Oh.” George sniffled. Jim squeezed his hand reassuringly. He'd heard there was a cold making the rounds.

“Hey, hey. Look, here's where my office is. Let me show you where the thrilling magic happens.”


	4. Chapter 4

When George got back to his dorm, disheveled and feeling pretty proud of himself, Rob was in there working on a Youtube video. 

“It's my roommate, George, everyone say hi to George!” 

George grinned and waved at the screen. Rob turned back to the camera. 

“Today is basically just gonna be a chatty Get Ready With Me and some first impressions of stuff I got for Christmas.”

George left quietly with his overnight bag for the romantic reunion weekend he had planned at Jim's house. He wished he had someone to talk to about all this. Things were intense, and moving fast, and it wasn't what he was used to. Not even Rob knew all the details, and he might not approve if he did know Jim was more than just a rich guy George was sleeping with. That Jim was _Daddy_. With how busy he and Rob were until graduation, they may never have a heart to heart conversation again. Would they even hang out in the future? Shouldn't they know one way or the other by now?

He had tried to explain how it felt to have someone suddenly and obsessively possibly in love with you, but Rob had just stared at him and said “Wait, you haven't noticed how many people fall in love with you?” Of course, sometimes he noticed, but they just wanted a vague fantasy, they didn't know _the truth_ about him like Jim did. He wasn't exposed to them, like he was with Jim. But Jim had only said 'you deserve to be loved' not 'I love you' and maybe it wasn't real after all because George had kind of said 'I love you' first. Maybe Jim was just being nice, to keep getting sex. 

Back at home over Christmas, his little brother had been full of questions, wanting to know why George called Jim his first boyfriend, despite all the sex he'd clearly been having for years. As George knew from experience, the difference between sex and romance was baffling at fifteen. 

Speaking of hopeless crushes, Kate Manners had just spotted him in the hall and he had to pretend he couldn't hear her calling, as he hurried to the car waiting outside. They'd hooked up during the Nutcracker rehearsals and now she was on him all the time. 

If it weren't for the embedded security lights edging the driveway, and the two coach lamps on the portico, George wouldn't have been able to see Jim's Tudor style mansion in the snowy dark.

“Have a nice evening, sir. I'll see you Sunday morning.”

George remembered this time, not to tip the driver, not even for the extra stop he'd asked for, and waiting while he got the takeout. As Jim had explained, 'paying him is my job, not yours.' As soon as he rang the bell, the door was wrenched open by a teenage girl with an extraordinary mop of frizzy red hair. 

“You're the new one!” She exclaimed. 

“Elizabeth.” Jim descended the stairs, looking handsome in a forest green sweater. “I will pay you $50 to go anywhere else tonight and stay out for as long as possible. Charles is already out at a sleepover with that boy Oliver, who has the skin condition.” 

“Well, I _wanted_ to be back at school already.”

“Couldn't get a flight?” George asked sympathetically. 

“I missed the first two days of classes. Anyway, I'm out of here, I promise.” She winked at George. 

“I'm just going to take the food to the kitchen.” She seemed nice, but George didn't want to prolong the conversation, in case she didn't leave the house quickly enough. He wanted tonight to go perfectly. He carried the insulated bag to the kitchen. Jim's kitchen was full of exposed brick, marble surfaces and copper accessories, very much decorated from one of those gourmet cooking supply stores. George removed his coat and changed into something other than his snow boots. Underneath the coat he'd chosen black dress pants, and a white button down shirt, to fit the role he was going to start the evening playing. 

He transferred the deep dish pizza from his insulated bag to an appropriately sized Lodge cast iron skillet (from the collection hanging on the wall). He left it to warm in the oven while he pottered around setting everything else up, putting the components of the dessert together. Finally, with a linen napkin folded over his arm, George placed the skillet on the dining table, lit the candles and as soon as he was sure Elizabeth was gone, sought out Jim in the library.

“Stuart, party of two for the private room? This way, please.” 

He pulled out Jim's chair for him, then served two slices of the pepperoni pizza on two china plates. Jim's mouth twitched in amusement. 

“Wine, sir?” At his nod, George poured the red Jim's cook had picked out for him before retiring for the night. 

“Really? From my own fridge?” 

“It was this or a bottle of $10 Barefoot,” George explained. He seated himself across from Jim, for now, shifting from the character of the high class waiter to the date.

“I don't think I've ever had a $10 wine,” Jim mused. George had to agree, that kitchen had clearly never seen such a thing. 

“It's not bad. It's won all sorts of awards and like...” George realized Jim was staring at him hungrily as he unconsciously lifted forkfuls of hot pizza cheese seductively to his mouth. 

“If you're not careful, we won't make it to the end of this meal,” Jim said. 

“That's such a cliché,” George snickered. He was going to eat a respectable amount of the food he'd paid for first, then it could evolve into a sex game. And yet he continued to tease, this time on purpose, rubbing Jim's foot with his own under the table.

“It is like something out of one of those awful bodice rippers. But tropes are tools, they can be used for good. For example, I heard at this particular restaurant, you can do anything you want to the waiters. And that cute one is doing things to me, that make me suddenly want dessert.”

“Call him over after this course,” George suggested. “Then, your library for dessert, the _other_ kind.”

When they'd had their fill, George returned to waiter mode and presented his dessert, which had been chilling in the fridge. He bowed. 

“Tonight's special is a chocolate pot du crème, sir.” 

“Ha! Pudding!” Jim gasped, George wondered if he had guessed correctly that it was from a 99 cent box of Jell-O pudding mix and a spray can of Cool Whip. “Come sit on my lap, sweetheart.” Jim gently fed George as George snuggled up against his chest. 

“I wish you could carry me to bed,” George murmured.

“It would rather break the illusion,” Jim said. They were close in size and Jim was a gangly scholar, not a weight lifter. “You'll have to walk like a big boy.”

“Then, I want to walk right up to a hot bubble bath,” George purred. Yes, that sounded good after his energetic day. Jim kissed his cheek. 

“You wanted to see the library first.”

George had peeked inside it the last time he'd visited Jim's house, but he'd never had the full personal tour, or any potential extra perks of that tour. 

“Did you know, in ancient libraries, they used to chain their most valuable books to the shelves?” Jim said, tracing a finger over George's cheek. “Harvard's old but not quite that old, I'm not sure we have any chained up books in the Widener. Although, with all the thefts over the years, they probably should try it and honestly, who knows what they've got buried in there.”

“No chains in the library,” George said sadly. 

“No, but you _are_ very valuable to me, just like those old books... So what do you say to a change of venue?”

“Just give me a sec,” George replied, taking a chance to run upstairs.

Jim cleaned up the dishes, and checked the alarm system while he waited for George to return. The library had a good fire going in the hearth, with the snow outside, it was almost perfect. 

“Is this your uncle?” George reached for a framed photo of Jim standing on a Maine beach, alongside an elderly man in a wheelchair. The other man had a certain family resemblance.

“Don't sneak up on me! Yeah. That's Uncle James. I'm actually named after my grandfather, though, we both are. But he's the one who adopted me, and ran the company during my childhood. He was pretty busy with all of that.” 

“Was that lonely?” George replaced the picture, turning to Jim, his big blue eyes genuinely curious. 

“Hmm. Yes and no,” Jim said. “Being left alone in a luxury beach condo with my Narnia books was much better than foster care, I can tell you that. My foster dad burnt my copy of _Prince Caspian_. And Uncle James eventually married and I had cousins, then, even if they were all girls. You grew up in a big family?”

“Big, loud, close knit, fiercely loyal. All on the same team, you know? Is- can I ask why he's in a wheelchair? Was he like, in an accident?” 

“He was shot in the back by a business rival.” 

“Oh my God.” George's mouth fell open. “That's awful.”

“It was a long time ago, but we don't talk about it much,” Jim said, and he shrugged. “I thought we came in here for more interesting reasons.”

“Your collection is amazing,” George said, changing track immediately. He walked around, reading the embossed titles of the books. “You have _The Three Musketeers._. I like that one and this is a beautiful edition. But it's weird if you see any of the movies first 'cause they're so different in the book.”

“You mean, they're actually assholes who ruin several people's lives and just laugh it off?” Jim supplied. 

“Yeah. I saw this review on Youtube that was like, yeah, Richelieu is a fuckboy but he's a fuckboy in a book full of them.” 

“Sometimes supposed heroes turn out to be the Worst, while people with bad reputations turn out to be less awful than we thought. Look at Dumas' take on the woman who inspired Milady. She led an interesting life but she was no thief and murderer.” Jim peeked at the volume George was now holding. “ _The Works of John Donne?_ ” 

“You have no system at all in this place, do you?” 

“I have a system!” Jim reached to extract the book, but George held it away. George opened to a random page and read out loud. 

“ _O think me worth thine anger, punish me,_

_Burn off my rust, and my deformity,_

_Restore thine Image, so much, by thy grace,_

_That thou maist know me, and I’ll turn my face._

That's kind of hot.” 

Jim realized that if your mind worked a certain way, it actually was kind of hot. And his and George's minds were aligned. 

“Do you want that tonight?” 

“No, I want you to treat me like one of those ancient books.” 

A delicate object he owned and protected, held down so no one could take it away. 

“We're going to need certain items,” Jim said. George smirked, he pulled a crumpled handful of silk from his pocket. 

“Is that my _Harvard tie_?” 

“I didn't go through your stuff. It was sitting on the dresser and the door was open...” 

“No, it's fine.” He should have put it away three weeks ago after the theology symposium. Jim penned George against the bookshelf, plucking the tie from his hands. “Put your arms above your head. Yes, good boy. Now, hold them still, I'll tie you when I'm good and ready.” 

He slowly began to unbutton George's shirt. George shivered, and Jim was certain it wasn't because he was cold. He pinched George's little pink nipples, smiling at the whimpers he heard. George did very well at staying still as Jim undid his pants. Jim felt himself stirring, he leaned in for a passionate kiss, testing George's will even more. 

“Please?” 

“No.” 

George was hard in his boxers, those were going to have to come off. 

“Come on. You can put your hands down for now.” Jim led him to the desk, George knew what he wanted, and laid down on his back across it, like a book ready to be studied. “Good job. Raise your arms again.” As he did so, Jim wrapped the silk scarf around George's wrists and tied it, loose enough for safety but not so loose George's wriggling could dislodge it. He tied the longest end around a drawer knob to hold George in place. Jim slowly pulled the boxers and pants down, the shoes and socks off until George was bare except for his open shirt. George's cock pointed toward the ceiling. Jim wrapped his mouth around it, enjoying the salty taste and George's helpless moans as he sucked him off, pulling away just before George came. 

“Hold it.” 

“What? Please!” George cried as he utterly failed to control himself. Jim tutted and shook his head. 

“You'll have to do better next time. Maybe I should leave you here until you get it right. Well, I would if we had all night to be alone. That was a very good first effort, though.” George was an excellent student, wasted at any college but the best. 

“Now, about that bubble bath...” George panted, peeking out from under tousled hair. “And you can let me take care of you too. I know you need to be inside me, don't you?” He was not wrong about that, Jim's aching cock could attest. 

The man sitting in a car outside watched all the downstairs lights go off, as one went on upstairs. Two male silhouettes passed by an upstairs window. An hour later, a teenage girl pulled up, got out of her car and knocked on his window. 

“Can I help you?” she asked pointedly, 'can I help you' being rich white person code for 'get off my private property now' when addressing another white person in a nice car. 

“My car stalled. But I called AAA, they should be here soon.” He shot her his friendliest, disarming smile. 

“Okay...” She returned to her own car, started it and drove it through the gates. The man shot off a text to Mr. Pearson. If 'Dr. James Stuart' had children, then he had something to protect, something to lose. Mr. Pearson would like hearing that. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to leave some potential for more installments, perhaps with a more complicated plot if I get around to it.

**Author's Note:**

> George and Jim meet at a supermarket, then later spend a couple of kinky weekends together, and start to fall in love. Jim is a Harvard professor who recently lost a son, George is a student at another nearby university with a painful past.


End file.
